The bed was littered with makeup bags and brushes, bead necklaces and short shorts.

Seventeen-year-olds Jacob Andrews and Eric Finch stood over the mess — both sporting hairy legs and tiny cotton miniskirts.

Now, it was time for the bras.

“I don’t really know how to put on a bra,” Jacob admitted.

There was clumsy fumbling — hooking the garments around waists, sliding on straps, stuffing the cups — Eric’s were white; Jacob’s, lacy red — with rolled socks.

“My gaawd, this is weird,” Eric moaned. “I’m having second thoughts about this. I’m not gonna lie.”

Tank tops followed, sliced below the bust with scissors, exposing flat, muscled midriffs. This led to rust-colored blush brushed on cheeks by Jacob’s mother — more than eager to doll up her son — followed by high-fives as the boys looked at each other wearing makeup and laughed.

Two mini ponytails in Jacob’s shaggy, sandy hair completed the look.

With bra straps exposed and Jacob’s Joe Boxer waistband poking above his skirt, they were set — ready to start their stint as cheerleaders for the powder puff football team.

It’s a ritual found at high schools every fall, as steeped in tradition at some campuses as the homecoming game and crowing a queen.

In the name of boosting school spirit, powder puff games reverse gender roles during homecoming week — junior girls play senior girls in football, while the boys stand on the sidelines cheering.

The concept stays the same, but powder puff varies from school to school. This year, Lord Botetourt High School cheerleaders wore T-shirts and vests bought at Goodwill. Salem High had no powder puff event at all, while at Hidden Valley, football players and cheerleaders led practices for cross-dressing proteges.

For the girls, football uniforms involve throwing on a T-shirt and sweats — clothes they might wear while studying. There are no giggles, no awkward glances, driving from home to the game.

For boys, there’s a little more shame. Most had never sported makeup, wigs or miniskirts before — let alone breasts.

“I can’t believe I’m going out in public,” Eric said as they left Jacob’s house.

As they walked out the front door, Jacob’s grandparents pulled up for a visit. He crouched, hiding behind his car until his mom forced him to say hello.

At first glance, Grandma thought Jacob — skinny and muscular and pony-tailed — was a girl.

It was the first of many times that would be said this Oct. 2 night.

Yet by the time they arrived at the Hidden Valley field, humiliation began to fade. They were cheerleaders now, and it was time to flaunt.

After scarfing down a Taco Bell quesadilla, Jacob peered into the side-view mirror of a friend’s sport utility vehicle, dabbing his mouth with a napkin and making sure his lipstick didn’t smudge.

Not that he needed to worry — his mother sent along a tube for the road.

An hour before game time, the cheerleaders were starting to arrive, each sporting big, big chests and teeny-tiny tops.

Andrew Tuck, 16, wore a T-shirt — stretched by balloons — reading “juniors ’08.” If he had to guess, he thinks his chest would measure a 36B — never mind that each balloon breast was the size of his head.

Sam Jones, a dark-haired 17-year-old with a sly smile, came to the field with a double-D bra and Marilyn Monroe-style wig.

As dusk and kickoff neared, all eight boys on the senior cheer team were here. There were the boys with red and black bouffant wigs complete with bows — somewhat reminiscent of Betty and Wilma from “The Flintstones.” Dark eyebrows were grazed by mismatched blond wigs. A boy with golden braids looked like the St. Pauli Girl. Bra cups runneth over the necklines of tank tops.

Then came the challenge: Running and flipping and jumping like they did in practice — this time with balloons and miniskirts.

“Don’t look up my skirt,” Jacob warned as three cheerleaders hoisted him into the air and he posed, forming a “Y” with his fists.

The stands were full as the game began. Dance music blared “show off that body.” It was time for these cheerleaders to show their moves.

“Let’s shake, ’n’ shout,” they cheered. “And knock ’em out.”

The chant ended with each cheerleader smacking his hip — but not everyone remembered to slap the same side.

With running starts, they flipped across wet field grass, performing cartwheels and round-offs, picking up fly-away wigs and breasts afterward.

They formed a pyramid, challenged the juniors to a dance-off, occasionally misspelled words they chanted to the crowd, joking afterward they were following stereotypes of cheerleaders being stupid.

On the sidelines, their trainers — members of Hidden Valley’s varsity cheerleading team — sat and watched.

Quincy Lee, 17, a perky co-captain with strong legs and a ponytail, admitted that teaching boys cheerleading was tough (“they’re soo A.D.D.”) But fellow cheerleader Victoria Layman, 17, said the boys were having fun on the field, which was what mattered most.

Occasionally, the girls helped the boys hoist a cross-dressed cheerleader into the air, pitching in as the boys’ lifting arms wobbled.

Otherwise, they were on their own.

They dropped to the ground and pumped push-ups, break-danced and flopped on their bellies for the worm.

Each time the senior girls scored a touchdown, cheerleaders ran the length of the field, wig hair flowing behind them as they threw fists in the air, exposing underarm hair with their bras and tank tops.

When the senior girls won 22-6, the cheerleaders rushed the field and joined the team in a jumping, finger-pointing mass. They formed a tunnel with their arms, shouting “Yeaah,” as the champion senior football players ran through.

For the moment, it did not seem to matter who was dressed as a boy or girl — only that their team won.

After the game, Eric and Jacob stood in the parking lot among the field lights and the jam of cars. Perhaps to avoid any strange looks on the way home, they stood by their open car doors and followed a ritual practiced by many a girl at the end of a long day — they took their bras off.